


Play This Out

by arsenicarcher (Arsenic)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Not Canon Compliant, Torture, Winter Whumperland 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 04:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/arsenicarcher
Summary: Clint's badly injured enough that it only makes sense to wait for the cavalry to come.  (Sometimes the best plan still sucks.)





	Play This Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for x-wingsandarchers for Winter Whumperland 2018 exchange, and I really hope they enjoy at least a little. It's rare that I feel like I haven't made a prompt work, but I think I failed pretty handily here, and all I can do is apologize.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Teeelsie, who was super supportive and helpful. 
> 
> Canon notes: I'm basically ignoring everything past CA:WS here, and assuming that everyone's living at Avengers Tower happily ever after.

Waking up after being tasered is very high on Natasha's list of least favorite things. It's similar to being knocked out, but atop the headache and the soreness and disorientation is dehydration and the feeling of having been left out in the sun too long. She draws in a slow breath, mostly to catalog any other bodily sensations she should know about, then sits up.

The cell they are in tilts sideways, almost sliding into her peripheral vision. She closes her eyes, to breathe through the nausea it induces, and when she opens her eyes again, thankfully, things stay grounded and where they should be.

Clint asks, "Do we have any clue what the fuck is going on here?"

She turns slightly to find him lying on his back, which is weird. Also inauspicious is his lack of a shirt. The floor is cold and lying like that is going to drain him of body heat quickly. Sure enough, she can see the shivers running the length of him, and now that she's really paying attention, hear the catch of breath each shiver brings.

"None," she tells him, because sure, they were doing some recon work, but if anything, being caught should have ended with them being killed. Also, it's more than a little suspicious that they were caught. Like these-people-knew-they-were-coming suspicious.

She scoots closer to him to try and assess what's going on. Once she's next to him, she finds he's cannibalized much of his clothing to try and keep himself from bleeding to death from what appears to be a gunshot wound in the vicinity of his hip. It's not clear if the bullet hit bone or if there's an exit wound, but regardless, that's going to make running difficult if they get the chance, so she starts recalculating what might be necessary to escape.

She seats herself with her back to the wall, and says, "Deep breath."

He listens without question, the way she knows he will, and she uses the second after he's inhaled to reposition him so that as much of his body as can be is lying on her legs without him having to bend at the hips more than slightly. He's lost a fair amount of blood and is probably still bleeding, she wants him getting as much of her body heat as possible.

He chokes on the pain, tipping his head to the side and vomiting bile onto her leg. As soon as he can, he says, "Shit, sorry, asshole move."

"Mm," she agrees, running her fingers through his hair. "We have to have been off comms for at least half an hour now. Bucky and Maria will have regrouped with Ops."

Natasha's certain she could get them out of here, if needed, but there's a reason she has a team, and one that she trusts. These days, Ops—aka, Tony and Steve and sometimes Bruce—might be more interested in wedding plans (Steve) and writing curriculum (Bruce) and raising kids with Pepper (Tony), but when push comes to shove, they're experts at roping together the right group of combatants and making sure all units return to base.

Thor's off-world at the moment, Bruce and Tony don't go into the field for anything but full-on apocalypse scenarios anymore, but Rhodey's available for emergencies, Sam's on call, Steve's been getting antsy anyway, and Bucky and Maria are active agents. Sure, these people were prepared for Natasha and Clint when they shouldn't have been, and are better than basic intel suggested, but Natasha's not worried. This is nothing the team can't handle, and probably nothing they can't handle more quickly and cleanly than any escape attempts on Natasha's part would go.

She just has to keep them both alive until the cavalry shows. Challenge accepted.

*

The floor can be electrified. They find this out when their captors use that little trick to once again knock them out. Natasha comes to locked against the wall in some contraption that has, among other things, a harness element and a collar which is dangerously close to choking her.

That is all fine. She's had bigger problems. What is not fine is they've got Clint naked and chained to the floor and he is still fucking bleeding. Calmly, with her eyes meeting Clint's, she says, "You have to know that my team and I are going to rip your intestines out of your body and feed them to you."

The person in the room with them appears androgynous, aided by dressing in a pair of coveralls, sporting a head buzzed of hair, and wearing a mask that covers the whole of their face. They shrug. "If we don't have what we want and aren't gone by then."

It's a good tactic, nonchalance, confidence. Natasha still knows how this is going to end, because she works with a family that chose her and Clint, and the family they chose right back, and there isn't a single cell in her person that isn't certain of what happens to people who hurt one of them, but she can acknowledge that there's sense in the approach.

Their captor says, "I want to talk about the Red Room."

Natasha keeps her face carefully blank, mostly because no good can come of anyone having any more information regarding that program than might already exist. She'll give up the info if it comes to that, she doesn't deem it worth her life, and it's certainly not worth Clint's, but since people who will kidnap and torture others for information tend to be people it's best to keep that information away from, she's going to deflect for a bit.

She mouths, "Sorry," at Clint, who rolls his eyes at her. He's tired and in pain, and possibly fevered. He's also Clint fucking Barton. He's got this under control.

Doesn't mean either of them are going to enjoy it. Natasha says, "Sure, talk."

The person makes a noise that might be laughter. Hard to tell without a facial expression to match. Then they carefully put on a glove and press a finger directly into the bullet hole Clint is sporting. Clint doesn't even hesitate to vomit on their hands and the front of their coveralls. Natasha would scold, because he _knows_ that's only going to make it worse, but she also understands a little too much to really take him to task for it. 

He smiles with more teeth than joy and says, "Oh, sorry, did I get you?"

They calmly walk over to an industrial-sized sink and rinse off the areas he managed to hit. They open a cabinet near the sink and pull out what it takes Natasha a moment to realize is table salt. She goes back to paying attention to Clint, saying, "Eyes on me."

She holds his gaze when the salt is applied and every muscle in his body goes tense, his eyes lose their focus. Their captor says, "The Red Room?"

Natasha says, "It was red. Fire engine, sorta. A little shading of brick, I suppose."

*

They go until the second time Clint passes out, when Natasha is turning over in her mind whether maybe she actually should give something up. He's wrecked. The interrogator's professional and experienced, knows how to inflict a shit ton of pain without much actual damage. It's that last—that none of the things being done are substantially dangerous in a long-term way—that allows Natasha to stay silent.

But when they're back in their cell, she holds him and gives him all the water, slowly, telling him bad jokes, the kind that won't make him laugh but will calm him, allow him something to focus on. He's shaking and pale, with vivid wheals and bruises, not to mention the bullet wound, which is irritated atop still being open. He mumbles, "You did good."

She sighs. "Clint."

"Think J is making sure they feed Lucky? Because I think Pepp's on a business trip and she's the only real adult in the Tower."

"I'm sure Lucky is being fed and given consolation pets in your absence," she tells him, stroking gently at the back of his neck, which is unmarked. 

"But not too many pets. I don't want his affections straying."

"He's no doubt pining miserably."

Clint smiles a little, his eyes drooping shut. He whispers, "Hey, Tash?"

"Hey, you?"

"Wait. Give the cavalry another day. Then you can do whatever you think best."

She works not to tense up. He doesn't ask her for things he knows are beyond her ability to give. He does ask her for things that challenge her. "One more session."

"Yeah, okay."

"Sleep. I'm watching."

"Always," he says.

*

The interrogator is breaking Clint's toes and Natasha is counting out her breaths so she won't focus on his bitten-off screams when there's the sound of a silenced gunshot and the interrogator drops. Natasha can't even see where the bullet hole is. Doesn't matter. Bucky's already crossing the room in long strides, heading toward Clint. He says, "Sorry we're late.”

Clint mumbles, "Better late than never," right before passing out. Bucky makes quick work of the restraints and picks him up. 

He's turned toward her, but then Steve slips in the room. "We're clear," he says, and goes to Natasha, asking, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, they didn't touch me," she says. She also hasn't had water or food in quite some time, and has been jolted with more electricity than she considers fun several times, but she can make it to wherever the rescue vehicle is, then worry about that. 

Steve hands her a gun. She says, "Thought you said we were clear."

"So says Tony," Steve says with a smile.

Natasha can _feel_ the indignation coming from Tony over the comms, she doesn't need to hear it. She says, "You two can flirt when we're home," before motioning Bucky in front of her. Steve takes point. It works as well as it always does.

*

Maria flies them home, where Clint's seen to by the doctor Tony hired full-time years ago, after Bruce finally put his foot down about not being a medical doctor. Bruce cajoles Natasha into eating a bit to restart her system, and drinking a few glasses of water. When Bruce seems mollified, she checks on Lucky, who, sure enough, is fine, and takes a shower. She goes up to see her "nephew" and "niece," Yuri and Mara Potts-Stark.

They're with Tony, the three of them putting together a 3-d puzzle of what looks suspiciously like the Iron Man suit. He gets off the floor when he sees her, says, "Please tell me Rhodey actually looked after Lucky. J put him in charge."

"Alive and well," Natasha says, and leans into the partial hug he gives her, knowing it's his way of grounding himself. Then, because she knows what Tony is actually asking, "As are me and Clint."

She looks down to see Mara, who's just barely three, tugging at her fingers. She lifts Mara up and says, "Hey there."

Mara, having entered a shy phase, whispers into Natasha's ear, "We're making a puzzle."

"I see that," Natasha tells her seriously.

"We can give it to Uncle Clint as a get-better present," Yuri says. He's six and has every inch of Pepper's poise. 

"He'd love that," Natasha says. Clint would probably be excited if the kids presented him with their actual trash. He's a total sap when it comes to them.

"Have to finish for that, though," Tony says, sitting back down. "You staying?"

She considers, but then admits, "I need sleep," setting Mara back down.

"You gonna go to your rooms or his?"

"His. Easier on everyone."

Tony nods. "I'll let them know."

She leans over to drop a kiss on his head and messes with his hair. He says, "I'm only allowing this because you could break me."

"Mhm."

*

Natasha wakes up to Steve bringing Clint into his rooms. She says, "Hey there, handsome."

They both say, “Thanks." She doesn't correct either of them. Bucky comes in a second behind them with IV bags. The rooms are all equipped with hooks that can be released from the walls next to the beds to hang IV bags on precisely for situations like this, so nobody has to stay overnight in the medical facility, barring catastrophic injury. 

Bucky plugs the IV back into the port Clint's got and says, "Sleep it off, Barton."

Eyes shut with exhaustion, half-asleep, Clint mumbles something completely incoherent probably meant to be an insult to Bucky's shooting abilities. Bucky's responding laugh is short, and he ambles out. Steve follows him, but not before catching Natasha's eye and mouthing, "If you need anything."

She nods. She knows they're there. She knew they would come for her and Clint, trusting them to help out now is nothing. Sometimes, when she reflects on these facts, it's terrifying, how intertwined she's allowed herself to become. Most of the time, it makes her feel stronger than she ever has before.

Clint's free hand pats around blindly until she sidles in closer to him. She says, "Right here."

Lucky chooses that moment to jump onto the bed and cautiously snuffle at Clint who pats at him clumsily, and says, "I'm good, boy, everything's fine."

Lucky makes a disdainful noise, but turns three times and settles at the foot of the bed. Clint laughs quietly. "You okay?"

For so long, she would have blown off the question, lied, done anything but answer, even with him. "I will be."

"My choice, Tash."

"I know. But you'd be fucked up, too, so step off a bit."

He laughs again, his eyes never opening. "Accurate."

"Sleep. I'll order food from that place with the apple-pie milkshakes when we wake up."

"The chicken soup."

"Yes, I actually know you, Clinton Francis."

"Ugh, stop talking."

She smiles, and does as told, letting him win this one.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback (but in no way expects or feels entitled to it!!) including:
> 
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